Gemotions

The box sat on the kitchen counter, a silent accusation. The woman’s stomach churned. She’d stumbled upon it while cleaning out her garage. Dusting off the dirt, she’d felt a jolt of recognition, a familiar sting of panic. She didn't have time to deal with this.

She walked away and began pacing, her foot tapping erratically. She told herself she was busy. The thought of opening it brought a prickling sensation to her skin. The urge to flee was almost overwhelming.

She returned to the box, and finally opened it. Inside were pressed flowers, a dried butterfly, and a small, leather-bound journal. The first entry was dated from her tenth birthday. She wanted to smash it.